Anything But Ordinary
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: And so we turned, the four of us together, back to the chaos of our squad room, sworn to protect a city that would never really give us anything in return.


They wanted someone they could call a hero. And they had us. If someone had asked, we'd have said that we were the farthest from being heroes that anyone could possibly be. We were just doing our jobs…doing what we always did and hoping we did it well.

A lot of the department jokes were made about us. We were considered to be among the elite. But no one really thought so. The units like Major Case and Homicide were the ones who received the proverbial glory. And it was our unit that bore most of the taunting. As if we were so much lower than the rest because of what we handled.

We bore it with our usual trademark smirks and our own brand of sarcasm, determined not to let them know how much we hated it. Occasionally, we cracked under the pressure. The city heard about it and gossiped. We closed our eyes and took a breath, hoping that it would all be gone when we could look again. But it never was. And seven years had taught us that it never would be.

The Special Victims Unit was all-volunteer. We came form different precincts, different squads, even different cities. And everyone frowned down on us for going in. They called us crazy, stupid…even tainted. In some ways, we might have been. But thinks like the stuff we handled were a growing problem on our streets. We had our reasons for walking into that squad room…our squad room. If no one else would take it, then we would…and we did.

The department eyes were heavy on our shoulders. We offered up fake smiles and acted as if we were all right. But that was all for appearances. The city wanted police officers who were content where they were, and that was what we gave them. Even when it felt as if we were slowly dying inside. But with each arrest…with each confession…with each conviction, a part of us grew back. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle. But it was what we did, so we took what we could get.

We envied those that could sleep at night. Home for us meant lying on our backs in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the dancing shadows on the ceiling while our significant other slept, oblivious. Home meant hours, endless hours of getting up and locking doors and windows, checking on our children, wrapped in their blankets and lost in their dreams. It was our secret, one we kept as best we could. But the unit still took its toll. And every time we closed our eyes, we'd see another victim's face.

The city was fickle. They praised us one minute and condemned us the next. One day they loved us, and the next, they couldn't stand us. And through it all, we pushed each other to the breaking point and over. Tempers were lost, insults were exchanged and tears were shed, but over our seven years together, we had become a family. And all of us, at one point or another, having seen a certain movie, knew that family meant nobody got left behind. Where one of us lacked, there was another to pick up the slack and vice versa. If one of us needed someone to lean on or talk to, there was always someone there.

Time to ourselves was rare. It seemed that every spare second was taken up by work. Our city needed us. And as much as they hated or loved us on any given day, we would never let it down. The streetlights glared down at us angrily as we stood at crime scenes, illuminating the rain. Cars sped by, splashing water, with little regard for us. But we were always there, and we always would be.

Other squads watched us with a mixture of awe, admiration and disgust. We knew what they were thinking. And we also knew that our reputations preceded us more often than not, so nothing was ever said. We exchanged stories and tactics with those we knew, treated those we didn't with cordiality. If they gave us trouble, it was on them. We had no problems with ourselves and never would.

The average run was two years, or so it was said. We'd passed that mark quite a while ago. Our lineup had been shaken and changed, but we were solidified, finally, and the city knew our work was seamless for the most part. So they gave us commendations, smiled, let the cameras have at us. And the next day, they were cursing us again. Seven years was pretty good, though, and they knew it. So they said nothing harsh enough to make us want to leave. They did, however, continue to watch. They'd watched the day each of us walked in, and they would be watching until we walked out.

The precinct rooftop was really the only place we could go to get away. So there we stood, in what we'd long ago termed 'city silence', watching the world below us. It was chaotic, but in a good way…the way we always expected it to be. But underneath the normalcy was a dark side…a side of New York City that we were the only ones to see.

With seven years, we had exceeded everyone's expectations by far. We'd showed the city that it took a certain kind of detective to handle our unit. And we'd shown them that we were that kind of detective…that we were anything but ordinary.

So with this thought in mind, we turned, the four of us together, to go back inside, to our jobs, to the chaos that was our squad room and to everything else, forever sworn to protect a city that would never _really_ give us anything in return.

* * *

A/N: So this is what happens when I have nothing to do on a Saturday night. I left the point of view open for a reason: couldn't decide who I wanted to tell the story, so therefore, just pick your favorite detective and that's who it is...needless to say, mine is Munch, and when I read it, he's the one telling it, but to each her own, right? And now I'm rambling so I'm going to shut up and go, but before I do, SVU is not mine. 


End file.
